


The Twenty Year Thaw

by denynothing1



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: (sort of), AU, M/M, Skiing, Winter Olympics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-25
Updated: 2008-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-27 12:35:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/denynothing1/pseuds/denynothing1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spectacular scenery awaits you at Pegasus Ski Resort, with its uniquely beautiful setting that is both vast and varied. </p><p>Located in the heart of the majestic, historic Athosian Reservation, Pegasus offers world class terrain for all abilities of skiers and riders, including our Olympic snowboard champion in residence, Ronon Dex. </p><p>Join Olympic Gold Medalist John Sheppard on our world class slalom, mogul and downhill courses, designed by World Cup Champion Rodney McKay. We also specialize in off-piste adventures, led by knowledgeable local guides. </p><p>Après ski facilities feature our award-winning spa, Atlantis, as well as fine dining and dancing. For an out of this world experience you'll never forget, book your winter getaway to Pegasus today!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Twenty Year Thaw

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted for the SGA Flashfic "F**king Freezing" Challenge.
> 
> ~17,000 words. I fail at flashfic.

~*~Prologue~*~

Nakiska  
Mount Allan, Alberta, Canada  
February 15th, 1988

"McKay, get your ass over here!"

"Jesus, look at that guy go!"

"McKay!"

"What? What? What makes you think I have any interest whatsoever--"

"You're the genius McKay. Get over here and explain how the hell this skinny bastard is doing this."

Rodney snorted. He had the terrains of three different slalom courses to memorize, bindings to check, boots to-- 

"Come _on_ , McKay. You gotta see this."

He stomped over to the crowd of cretins gathered around the television in the corner of the lounge and scowled at the screen. "How impressive. Someone is skiing down a hill. Do you think it will catch on?"

"Look out, he's gonna-- Yeeow, you freaky bastard, how the hell did you not crash?"

"Shit, I think he just picked up time."

"How is he doing that? It's snowing and he's going _faster_."

Rodney folded his arms. The howling storm that had canceled the Men's Downhill the day before was still pelting the competitors with snow a day later, so it was difficult to pick up details. But okay, he had to admit, the racer that had everyone glued to the screen had just found a clever line for attacking a vicious turn. Not something a downhiller would normally even think of, since, in Rodney's considered opinion, most of them only understood one direction -- straight down. 

He glanced impatiently over at his course charts, then back to the screen and… His jaw dropped as the name of the tiny figure in blue and white flashed across the screen. "Wait, is that…?"

"Sheppard! Yeah, can you believe it?"

"But, but-- He was kicked off the team!"

"I know! I guess the Yanks decided breaking curfew and a fuck you attitude are no problem if you can pull off split times like this."

"I thought he was… gone." Rodney swallowed and felt his fingernails bite into the palms of his hands. Sheppard bulleted down a straight, then went airborne. Tucked down over his skis, poles flat, he was a perfect aerodynamic shape flying over the snow. 

"Christ, Frankie's never gonna beat this time."

"Are you kidding? Even fucking _Mueller_ is gonna have a tough time-- Whoa!"

"1:59:02! Holy crap!"

Jaws dropped around him, while Rodney clamped his lips together, trying not to grin. Sheppard, you crazy bastard, he thought. You crazy, crazy-- He ducked his head, then looked around, but nobody was paying any attention to him.

"What's he saying? What's he saying?"

Rodney looked back up at the screen. Sheppard had tossed off his helmet; his long, dark hair was wild and sticking up all over his head. As he was lifted up by jubilant teammates, he smiled so radiantly it almost hurt to look at him. He threw back his head and yelled to the sky.

"'Okay?' Is he saying, 'okay?' Oh, it's, 'I'm okay,' maybe. That's a weird thing to say."

"'I'm okay, I did it,' looks like."

"Lucky son of a bitch. I bet he's feeling okay right now."

Rodney stood stock still in front of the television while John was interviewed. How was he feeling? Great. How was his run? Pretty great. Was this the best he'd ever skied? It had been really great, yeah. What had he been yelling at the end of the race? 'I'm okay?' What did that mean? John just ducked his head with a shy smile, then was dragged away by another interviewer firing questions at him in French.

Rodney sucked in a breath, then turned back to the preparations for his own races later in the week. Would John -- now that he was reinstated, now that he was still here, now that he was an instant hero -- would he come back to the Village to find Rodney? He grinned, thinking about the night before last. Rodney figured his odds were pretty good.

 

***~*~***

 

Pegasus Mountain  
Athosian Reservation, Sierra Nevada Range  
January 18th, 2008

 

"You can't be serious."

"I am completely serious, Rodney." Elizabeth folded her hands and gazed up at him from behind her desk. Usually they discussed business on the comfortable sofa by the fire in the outer office. For this news, he wouldn't put it past her to have called him in here purposefully, where she could look all big-time executive-like, not to mention feel safe behind a walnut veneer barricade.

"Sheppard? John Sheppard? You're hiring John Sheppard?"

"Rodney--"

"John Sheppard who got kicked off the U.S. Olympic Team right before the downhill and won the gold anyway, John Sheppard?"

"Yes, Rodney. That same John Sheppard. The same John Sheppard who has since gotten a very good reputation in Europe as an expert instructor and back country guide. Until… Well, he's been very successful. Until recently."

"You think what happened on La Grave wasn't his fault? I mean, I don't either, not for a second, but--"

"That's correct. I do not, and I certainly don't think it will be a problem here. He's coming to Pegasus, Rodney. And you can't deny that we can use someone like him--"

"Excuse me, a Canadian World Champion in residence isn't good enough for you? Oh of course, because nothing dazzles like a one-hit wonder if a gold medal comes with it. Plus a stupid nickname. 'The Okay Kid,'" he sneered. "Are they still calling him that? Is that what you're going to put in the brochures?"

"You know we just might." Elizabeth looked as if the thought appealed, if only for how much it would annoy Rodney.

He ignored her. "Yes, yes, nothing bores rich Americans like skiing courses that require precision and skill. All anyone wants to do these days is jump out of a helicopter in the middle of nowhere, or point their skis down a hill and let gravity take care of the rest. What a joke. In my day--"

"Actually, Rodney, what people, rich and otherwise, want to do these days is the other reason we will be welcoming John Sheppard with open arms. Because he's bringing Ronon Dex with him."

Rodney took a breath, about to continue his rant on the disintegration of skill that characterized the modern skier, when Elizabeth's words penetrated. "Ronon… Are you serious? Ronon Dex is coming here?"

"That's right. He and Sheppard are friends. I'm not sure why he decided to come, but we're getting them as a package deal for the season. We'll see what happens after that."

"Oh, perfect." Rodney dropped down into one of the chairs in front of the desk. "Why don't you just take that letter opener and stick it in my back while you're at it?"

"Rodney, please. Don't be absurd."

"It was inevitable. My beautiful mountain. My beautiful, technical, perfect runs and now you're going to bulldoze them into-- into tubes and pipes and, and _drains_ or whatever those people like to slide down on their stupid, stupid skateboards--"

"Snowboards, Rodney, and we already have a perfectly beautiful snowboard course and you know it. No one is going to bulldoze any of your ski runs. It's just that now we'll have someone who'll attract even more customers. Teyla and the Athosian Tribal Council have put their trust in my ability to make Pegasus a modern, fun and popular destination for _all_ winter resort goers, not just the traditional ski crowd, and I intend to do right by them. Sheppard and Dex will be part of that."

"Oh and where does that leave me? On the bunny hill with the day trippers?"

"Stop it. You are the director of our ski operations and that's not going to change. John will come in as a guest instructor and do some back country guiding under Teyla's direction if he wishes. Ronon is going to be training for Vancouver. He may take on a few select students, but mainly he's here so the resort patrons can see that we have a world class snowboarding facility. With your reputation and John's--"

Rodney snorted.

"And John's," Elizabeth continued. "He may not have a World Championship, Rodney, but a gold medal and a little bad boy glamour go a long way with the kind of patrons we're trying to attract."

Rodney stood and raised his chin. "Fine, when you put it that way."

"The amount of publicity this is going to bring Pegasus is priceless. It will put us on the map."

"Priceless for Pegasus, maybe. I'll refrain from describing what it's going to cost me, as I sense I'm speaking to a less than sympathetic audience. At least Zelenka will take my side. He hates snowboarders."

"You'll survive, Rodney. Both of you will. I assume you'll want to join Teyla and me when we welcome them tomorrow? They're arriving at noon." It wasn't an order, but it wasn't exactly a request, either.

"I'll be there," Rodney replied stiffly and stalked out the door to break the news to Radek. 

John Sheppard, he thought. After the disaster that was Calgary, he'd managed to avoid John Sheppard for twenty years. And now he was dropping right onto Rodney's doorstep. 

Oh, crap.

 

***~*~***

 

"This is waste of my time."

"Nobody said you had to come."

"Rodney, you threatened to hide all my socket wrenches unless I, and I quote, 'take some time off this morning.'"

"I was concerned about you! Just as I'm concerned about all my staff."

"Jsem ti fakt zavázáný. Remind me to nominate you for boss of the year."

"I wish you would settle down, both of you," Elizabeth said, with a sigh. "This is hardly the way we, as an executive staff, should present ourselves."

"You're worried about impressing a couple itinerant ski bums?"

"Rodney--"

"Elizabeth!" The front doors to the cozy, wood-paneled lower lounge opened and Teyla Emmagen strode in. "Elizabeth, I hope I'm not late. Rodney, Radek, good morning."

"Lorne radioed a moment ago that they've just turned up the drive. They should be here any minute."

"Thank you again, Elizabeth. The Council and I are anticipating a wonderful season. With the new bookings we should get in addition to our returning visitors, we should be able to pay off the investment in the snowboard course much sooner."

"Brilliant. Maybe next year we can put in a Go-Kart track and a pony ride."

"Rodney!" 

Elizabeth's annoyed look didn't chasten him, but Teyla's warm touch on his arm did. "I understand this expansion may not fit your idea of the perfect ski experience, Rodney. But you have to remember how far we have come, and how beneficial the success of Pegasus will be for my people. If expanding into more popular sports and attractions will do that--"

"Yes, yes," Rodney said. "Look, I'm sorry-- What?" he said to Zelenka's raised eyebrow. "I am!" He took Teyla's hand and stared intently down at her. "I don’t think you realize-- Okay. Dex? Yes, I see why you wanted to get him here. The kids think he walks on water, and from everything I've heard he's a dedicated, hard-working guy. Even if what he's best at is quite possibly be the stupidest sport ever invented. But Sheppard! Do you have _any_ idea what you're getting into with John Sheppard?"

"Gee, what _is_ she getting into, Rodney? Go on, I'm dying to know."

Rodney froze as that drawling voice, the one he thought he'd forgotten and now realized he never would, curled into his ear. He looked up, over Teyla's head and into a pair of clear, green eyes. He hadn't forgotten them, either.

"Mr. Sheppard!" Teyla loosened her hand from Rodney's grip and turned to offer it to John. "I am Teyla Emmagen. On behalf of the Athosian Tribal Council, I am pleased to welcome you to Pegasus." She shook John's hand firmly, then turned to the very tall, heavily dreadlocked man standing next to John. "Mr. Dex, welcome. We are so pleased you have decided to spend the season with us."

"Ronon," the giant said, smiling down at Teyla. 

"And I'm John," Sheppard added. Rodney noted his eyes warmed considerably as he smiled at Teyla. "Thanks for the invitation. It's beautiful here. Everything I've heard about the place seems to be true."

"Thank you," Teyla said. "it is only recently that we have begun to develop the area. Its beauty is our most valuable asset. May I introduce our directors of resort and ski operations? Elizabeth Weir and Rodney McKay. And this is Radek Zelenka, who runs our ski shop."

A five-way festival of handshakes took place, with accompanying murmured exchanges of first names. Rodney surreptitiously studied John and tried to ignore the battle between dull dread and ridiculous hope going on somewhere down in his chest. 

John was older, of course. Still skinny as a rail and loose-limbed, if not quite at ease in his skin. The watchful look Rodney remembered him adopting in stressful situations seemed to have settled onto him as an habitual mantle. If that made Rodney a bit sad, John's thick, spiky hair, only a little gray at the sideburns, made him jealous as hell. Sheppard had always been cocky. Now, with the long, floppy hair of his youth trimmed shorter and bristling all over his head, he had the cockscomb to go with it. It was absurd, Rodney told himself. And no, he hadn't noticed how good John smelled under the sharp, clean scent of ozone and snow. He hadn't noticed that at all.

"Sheppard," he said stiffly, when they finally shook hands.

"McKay," John smirked. "Good to see that famous Canadian politeness still hasn’t gotten its hooks in you."

"Yes, well." Rodney felt his face heating. He darted a glance at the others, who were cheerfully exchanging pleasantries. "Um, good trip?"

"Good enough." John's gaze was unreadable for two or three eternal seconds, and then he smiled. "Looking pretty good for an old guy, McKay."

Rodney bristled. Well, it has been--" Twenty years, he almost said, then panicked. Do not go there, he told himself. We are not going to talk about the good old days. Or the bad ones, either. "I have no idea. Quite some time, I suppose," he muttered, lamely.

John just smiled wider. There were crinkles around his eyes that hadn't been there the last time Rodney had seen that smile. His heart gave an outright lurch. Good god, he told himself. Get a grip.

"So how're the conditions up top? Won't be a problem for me to go up today, right?"

Oh, perfect, Rodney thought. Yes, by all means, let's talk about the weather. "It's a little windy," he said. "We had a warm up last week and then a hard freeze so there's some ice. But," he added hastily, at John's unimpressed look. "We've got a decent snowpack and we should be getting a storm in two or three weeks. New snow. It should be, uh. Excellent conditions. I've got a satellite tracking system set up, I can show you if you'd, um, like and, and you should know, Zelenka is a master at adjusting equipment for variable conditions. We have the latest--"

"Yes, yes, Rodney, time enough to impress them with our gadgets later. Now they probably want some lunch. And a drink, yes?" Radek, the traitor, far from holding his nose in the presence of the philistines amongst them, seemed to have succumbed to Dex's charm, and was smiling warmly at Sheppard as well. 

"Sounds good. You coming?" Sheppard lifted a heavy pack onto his shoulder and raised an eyebrow.

"Later. I have to-- I'm going to check the, um. Yes. Good meeting you!" He gave Dex a little wave. "Sheppard." 

As he turned and walked slightly ahead of the group, he heard Teyla murmur, "You know each other?" 

Sheppard laughed and said. "Yeah, everybody knew McKay back in the day. The only Crazy Canuck who really was crazy. Talk your ear off about centripetal force and momentum and stuff. Lots of other ten dollar words. Am I right McKay?"

The wild threads of excitement and confusion that had curled around Rodney's heart at the sight of Sheppard in the flesh after all these years tightened to the point of physical pain. He let out an annoyed tsk as a small rip in the carpet, probably left by some moron in ski boots, caused him to stumble slightly.

"You okay, there, buddy?" He felt the brush of John's hand under his elbow.

"Fine, fine," he muttered, without turning around. He increased his pace till he could no longer hear the babble of voices behind him, and burst into the sanctuary of his office with relief. 

 

***~*~***

 

"Rodney, he is doing it again."

"What?" Rodney looked up from his computer in irritation. Radek was standing in the office doorway with his hair even more on end than usual.

"He is playing with -- well, working with, he says -- the school kids who have come up for the day."

"Didn't he have the Kingswell party this morning?"

"They have canceled. Mrs. Kingswell has a hangnail."

"Oh, she does not."

"Well, whatever, they have canceled and John is out with the kids. Me, I think it is very nice and I do not see why it is a problem, but you asked me to tell you if he did it again, so I am. If Ronon punches me later it will be all your fault."

"Great, we've got the Rocky Mountain equivalent of a Class 3 hurricane barreling down on us and I have to go deal with the pied piper of Pegasus Mountain." Rodney slapped down the screen on his laptop.

"I thought the storm was not until next week. Besides, what are you going to do about it? Yell even louder than usual and hope you will scare it away?"

"Oh, hah, hah. You know very well how much we need to prepare for this kind of thing." On the way out the door, he paused, then turned back to grab his ski boots and the skis from their hook on the wall. They were dusty, he noted with surprise, then realized he couldn't remember the last time he'd been up the mountain on skis. On a snowcat and by helicopter, yes, but not on skis. 

"You are going to ski?"

That made him even crankier. "Of course I'm going to ski! Why wouldn't I ski? They don't give out World Championships just for good looks, you know. How else am I going to corral that nitwit and get him back down here to do the job we hired him for?"

Radek's eyes brightened. "Wait for me. I am going to get my camera."

 

***~*~***

 

In the end, and to Radek's huge disappointment, Rodney went up the ski lift by himself. There were too many customers at the shop requiring his expertise, and Radek was left to wave sadly at Rodney, no doubt plotting to grill every person who came down the mountain to see if anyone had gotten shots of Rodney kicking Sheppard's ass. Which Rodney had every intention of doing.

Sheppard and Dex had actually settled into their jobs pretty well over the last couple weeks. Dex worked out faithfully every afternoon to the oohs and ahs of the unwashed multitudes that trekked into the resort to watch him slide down and around the snowboard venue, a good portion of which still reminded Rodney of so much frozen plumbing. He didn't see the attraction, but plenty of paying souls did, so he muffled his opinions and made sure the half-pipe and snowcross course were groomed to Olympic-level perfection. 

Sheppard had spent some time learning the local terrain with Lorne by chopper and with Teyla on skis, though he hadn't gotten to the point of going off with his own groups yet. Considering that his last expedition had left two people dead, Rodney wasn't surprised and also wasn't about to discuss it with him. The gossip was equally divided between John being the hero and the goat of that horrific avalanche on La Grave and its aftermath and he could just imagine John's reaction if Rodney brought it up.

Not that Rodney gave himself much of a chance to do so. Despite the gossip, or maybe because of it, once word had gotten out that Sheppard was available for one-on-one and small group instruction on the expert runs, at rates Rodney considered exorbitant but customers were clamoring to pay, Sheppard's time was completely booked and Rodney rarely saw him. 

And okay, that was also because Rodney had taken to avoiding the bar above the lounge in the evenings. Every now and then, as he locked up his office to go home to his condo on the other side of the resort, Sheppard's hoarse belly laugh would drift down from the bar. And Rodney would smile, before he caught himself. No matter how often he wanted to go up the stairs to see who or what had caused that sound, he resolutely refused to get caught up in… whatever it was Sheppard did to him, all over again. He was too old and too smart for that. And too busy. He was very, very busy, he told himself every night as he consumed his Lean Cuisine and his day old Globe & Mail.

In fact, the only time he'd dealt with Sheppard in the last two weeks was over an earlier report that Sheppard had ditched a paying client to teach the local school kids. The Athosian Council bussed the little terrors in once a week as a good will gesture to the communities surrounding the reservation. That time, he'd confronted Sheppard as he'd come back down the mountain, a bundled up, rosy-faced kid grasping his hand. Sheppard had managed to keep the boy from toppling over in the slushy snow at the base of the lift, then waved him off with a smile before turning to Rodney.

"McKay?"

"Tell me that kid is on his way up to the ski office with a check to cover your ridiculous hourly rate, Sheppard."

"Actually, I think he's on his way to get hot chocolate."

"What are you doing? You're supposed to be flattering rich people out of their loose change so they can say they skied with an Olympic gold medalist! Though why they would learn anything from someone who merely points his skis--"

"Downhill and lets gravity take care of the rest, yeah, I remember McKay." John's easy smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "You may not have noticed, but my clients are on vacation and sometimes they don't feel like working out. They're rich enough to eat the cancellation, so what difference does it make if I spend some time with the kids? It's fun. You remember fun, McKay?" 

He looked Rodney up and down, no doubt noting his wool trousers and sweater and the thin-soled shoes on his rapidly freezing feet. "Huh, maybe you don't. Do you ever get out of that office? How long since you've even been up there?" Sheppard pointed his thumb up the mountain.

Rodney had been willing to be reasonable right up to that point. "I'll have you know that I have an incredibly difficult and serious job to do running this place, Sheppard. Unlike some people, I don’t have time to play with children. And neither would you if you would come back down here and hustle another job when you're scheduled group cancels."

"Wow, Rodney, you really are a grownup now, aren't you?"

"And you really are a-- a-- no wonder they call you the Okay Kid. Emphasis on the--" 

John narrowed his eyes. "Don't, McKay. Do not call me that."

Oddly, he'd felt almost ashamed as John's angry look had turned to… hurt? "Look, I'm sorry. I won't call you dumb nicknames if you agree to stick to your schedule. And I really don’t have time for this." He had turned on his heel and almost stepped in a ski boot-sized puddle of icy water, then brushed off John's steadying hand with an annoyed huff. 

"Next time a client cancels, I'm going to come get you, Rodney," John had called after him as he'd stomped up the stairs to the lodge. "Being such a serious businessman and all, I'm sure you can afford me."

No I can't, Rodney had thought crossly. I can't afford you at all.

And he still thought that, so why he was impulsively chasing after John Sheppard to read him the riot act again was a damned mystery. Maybe Rodney had hidden masochistic tendencies. Or maybe he really was just tired of the office and chasing Sheppard was as good a bit of exercise as any.

He closed his eyes with an audible groan and willfully banished images of doing other things with John Sheppard.

 

***~*~***

 

The bunny hill at Pegasus was nestled within a natural bowl that caught the sun, which made it a pleasant place to learn how to stay vertical while on skis. To keep the inevitable crash and burn incidents as painless as possible, Rodney always made sure the snowmakers provided an extra soft cushion around the perimeter. He was rather proud of the fact that since he'd come to Pegasus, no one had sustained any injury more serious than a sprain up here. In fact, most came down the mountain so enthused they signed up for more advanced lessons, so Rodney considered the area a success. That didn't mean he spent any time here. Amateurs gave him hives.

As soon as he skied off the lift, he froze as two children came screaming -- literally as well as figuratively -- toward him. The best thing to do with kids on skis was to let them go around you rather than try to get out of their way, as their low center of gravity made them much more maneuverable than adults. Sure enough, one brightly colored hellion swerved left while the other careened right, and all Rodney had to show for it was a crotch full of snow. Excellent. Could this day get any better?

"Sheppard!" he bellowed, as he brushed himself off. "Are you out here?"

"Down here!"

Rodney shielded his eyes -- despite the ominous forecast, for the moment the skies were clear and the sun blinding -- and peered down the hill. The tall figure of John Sheppard, lanky even in ski clothes (all black of course), was surrounded by children, most of whom came up no further than his waist. He was making motions with his hands, and the kids were, miraculously enough, quiet and still, hanging on his every word. 

"He's great." Kate, one of the regular instructors for kids and beginners, slid to a stop next to Rodney. "So patient. So kind. So oh my god hot."

"Please," Rodney muttered.

"What? It's nice to have a little eye candy around this place. Between him and Dex, everybody's perked up. And that's just the guys. You don't even want to know what the conversation's been like in the women's locker room."

"You are correct, I really don't." 

"Come on, Mr. McKay. That's at least one of the reasons you hired them, right? That and the Olympic connection, I guess. Past and future."

"I didn't hire them, Elizabeth did. And I certainly didn’t hire them to teach random children while on the clock."

"I heard Mrs. Kingswell has a hangnail."

"Oh for god's sake." Rodney tucked his poles under one arm and set off down the gentle slope. A graceful arc to the left was followed by a precisely carved turn to the right. He admitted to himself he was showing off -- on the bunny hill, for the love of pete -- but he knew Sheppard's eyes were on him. This is how you ski, you hairy cannonball. You feel the slope and calculate the drop and analyze the condition of the snow and oh, _crap_. 

The tiny rocket of pink, puffy fleece whizzing by startled him just enough that he overcorrected, flailed his arms, felt his poles drop and yelled, "Heads up! Up, up, up!" as he approached the crowd at the bottom of the hill. He would have been fine; after all, he was perfectly capable of stopping on a dime, even off balance. That is, he would have been fine if Sheppard hadn't shoved several children out of the way, then stepped forward to pick up something colorful -- a glove? -- that one of the kids had dropped.

"Oof," Rodney said as he bounced into Sheppard. Then, "Let go, I'm fine!" as Sheppard reached out to steady him. 

"I know you're fine, just let me-- wait a minute. Agh!"

Of course, their skis locked together. Of course, momentum then carried Rodney forward and John backward until Rodney decided enough was enough and tried to turn them. Since he didn't bother to tell John what he was doing -- even though John was so close Rodney could feel his warm breath -- John lost his balance and fell backward. Naturally, Rodney went with him. This time it was John's turn to say, "Oof!" as they landed in the deep snow at the end of the run.

For a moment there was utter stillness as Rodney looked down into John's eyes. Then the sound of raucous children's laughter bounced around the snow bowl. Rodney closed his eyes and dropped his head onto John's shoulder. The shoulder was moving. John was laughing too. This was insane. He was a former world class athlete with an excellent sense of balance and lately he'd been falling over his own feet like a drunk on thin ice. Damn John Sheppard anyway.

"Hey, are you okay?" John asked, after ten of the most humiliating seconds of Rodney's life.

"You mean apart from the fact that I'm stuck in a snow drift with you, surrounded by a hundred revolting little beasts who are laughing their heads off?" Rodney muttered into John's ski jacket. "Why yes, thank you. I'm perfectly fine!"

"Okay, just so long as you're fine."

"You guys okay?" Kate called. Big surprise, her voice was choked with laughter, too.

"Yeah, we're fine," John called back. "Get the kids together, it's time to go back down anyway."

Rodney raised his head and stared at John, who seemed perfectly relaxed, considering the absurd situation. Suddenly, he realized his knee was between John's legs and John's knee was between his. Rodney's hands were resting on the snow on either side of John's head and he was probably hallucinating, but John's gloved hands moving on his back felt almost like a… caress? Oh, this was not good.

John's eyes were lit with good humor. "If you came up here to whip me into line, McKay, you didn’t have to knock me down to do it." 

Rodney felt himself flush as John shifted under him. "No," he said. "No, no, no, it was that little pink… person! She made me swerve and I hit a patch of ice. That's all! Besides, you're the one who fell. I just… fell with you."

"Okay." John licked his lips. "So you going to get up any time soon? There's not much I can do about this till you do."

"Of course, yes, yes-- oh." One of Rodney's bindings had done its job and released from his boot when they fell. He was pretty sure both John's skis had come off, or he wouldn’t be lying back so… gracefully. But Rodney's other ski was still attached and maneuvering upright was much more awkward than it needed to be. 

He wiggled to get his knees under him, and sucked in a breath when John's leg slid up between his as he pulled himself into a sitting position. "Here, let me," John murmured and reached down to unsnap Rodney's boot. Rodney automatically put his hands on John's shoulders and hung on. "Got it," John said, and Rodney sighed with relief as he felt his boot pull free.

He rose to his feet, then reached down and pulled John up. They spent a silent minute brushing themselves off. When John bent down to put his skis back on, Rodney hissed in irritation and started to brush at the snow heavily caked all down John's back. John looked over his shoulder, then stood passively as Rodney vigorously whisked off the powdery mess, even making a pass at John's hair. It was soaked, but still sticking straight up. 

"Finished?" John drawled, as Rodney made a couple last, completely impersonal passes over John's ass.

"Yes!" Rodney stomped over to retrieve his own skis. "And if you get sick and have to cancel on the Kingswells tomorrow, I'll probably get stuck with them, and then they'll never come back. And it will be all your fault."

"Sick? From a sixty second roll in the snow? And I don’t know, Rodney. They might enjoy getting pointers from you."

Rodney swallowed, suddenly hit by a vivid memory. He'd used a model made of three pillows and a duvet cover to give John pointers for conquering the mountain in Calgary. Possibly the fact that they'd both been naked at the time made the memory even more vivid. "I doubt it," he muttered.

"You looked pretty good coming down the slope. You were carving turns just like old times."

Rodney looked up. John was fitting his boots into his skis and grinning. "Really?"

"Yup. Nice and slow."

"Oh, so funny. Yes, that's me, the slowest World Champion on record. Oh wait, it doesn't say that, does it? It just says, 'World Champion,' full stop. Whereas next to your name--"

"Yeah, yeah, save it, McKay." John's good humor seemed to melt along with the snow in his hair. "Come on, it's going to get dark soon and I want to take a shower and warm up a little. The Rittendorfs invited me for dinner so we can talk about our run tomorrow."

"You know, if you hadn't spent all afternoon -- uncompensated, I might add -- on these little monsters, you wouldn't be so cranky. Or so cold."

"I was fine till you tripped me and landed us in a snow bank, Grace."

 

***~*~***

 

After passing on a shower -- he wasn't that cold, and he wasn't yet at the pathetic point of mooning over John Sheppard in towel. Or out of one, his hindbrain chirped up, at which point he almost physically smacked himself upside the head -- Rodney changed in his office and set himself another hour of work before finishing for the day. The storm was due day after tomorrow, and he needed everyone on the same page in case they lost power. This far into the reservation, that was a distinct possibility, and he needed to be sure all the generators were on line and ready to go.

He checked in with Zelenka and Lorne, touched base with Elizabeth and Teyla, and let off a little steam with a perfectly justified rant at his fuel supplier -- what were they making gasoline out of these days? Gold? -- and finally was satisfied that they were as ready as they could be. 

As he locked the office door, the usual boisterous sounds from the bar reminded him that he'd promised Elizabeth he would check in with Cadman and make sure the liquor stock was ready for the coming siege. Skiers and riders got notoriously thirsty when they were stuck at the bottom of a mountain by bad weather. Actually, they were notoriously thirsty all the damn time, which meant a nice profit for Pegasus but a constant supply headache for Elizabeth, who was down in town today, interviewing potential new hires. Business was booming lately, and… Rodney wasn't about to mull over possible reasons for it. 

He climbed the stairs to the bar, telling himself he was actually relieved knowing John wouldn't be there, when a familiar, honking laugh stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Hey, McKay!" Ronon called out, before Rodney could turn around and hustle back down the stairs. "Sheppard said you were out on the bunny hill today. Said you skied like the old days. For almost twenty seconds. Go you."

Surrounded by the very noisy, revoltingly cheerful Rittendorf clan, Ronon and John were a center of relaxed calm and ridiculous beauty leaning nonchalantly on the bar. In fact, as they stood side by side, Rodney was struck by a horrifying thought. Were they a couple? He hadn't heard anything, but then no one gossiped with him except Radek, and Radek was sometimes annoyingly obtuse about sharing important information.

"I have to… check something," Rodney said, making a detour toward the back of the bar. He glanced around and noted that every other female in the place, and a few men as well, were discreetly -- and in some cases not so discreetly -- focused on John and Ronon. Some of them looked ready to knock over as many Rittendorfs as required to get near them. He had to get out of here before it got ugly. "Cadman!" he barked.

"Wait, McKay, is that a _briefcase_?" Like Ronon's, John's voice carried just fine over the noise in the room.

He turned around. "Yes? No! It's a laptop case! I have a lot more work to do tonight. Unlike some people-- hang on. I thought you were having dinner at the restaurant tonight."

"Mary and Joseph got sick," one of the interchangeable blonde children piped up.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Mary and Joseph. The twins?"

"Yeah, McKay, you know. The twins?" John looked down as one of the children tugged at his hand. "You guys ready?" The kid nodded solemnly.

"What are you doing with these children?" McKay asked faintly. "And where are their parents?"

"Sick kids, remember? Ronon and I are going to baby sit the rest of them. I promised to teach them how to play-- uh, billiards."

"Oh my god. Tell me you are not going to teach these children how to hustle pool."

"You got a better idea? Maybe you could teach them the best way to fall down."

Rodney lifted his chin. "That was not my fault and you know it."

"I don't know, Rodney, you carrying a briefcase and all. I think your skills must have gotten pretty rusty, lately."

"There is nothing wrong with my skills! My skills are top notch, just like they always were. I can still wipe the floor with you. On any run out there!"

"Any run, McKay?" Ronon's rumble slid right under Rodney's skin.

He drew himself up. "Any. Run."

"Great. Meet us at the snowcross course tomorrow. Three P.M. sharp." 

"What? No, no, no, any ski run. Ski run, you sliding… slider. And you!" He turned to Sheppard, who was making clucking noises under his breath, much to the amusement of various Rittendorfs. "Cut that out!"

"Come on, Rodney, it will be fun. Have you ever even been on the course?"

"No. Why would I want to do that? I do not _slide_ and I do not _ride_. I ski, something that takes skill and intelligence, and, and--"

"Wow, no wonder you look so unhappy all the time, McKay."

Rodney shot Ronon a dirty look. "Besides, there is an enormous storm heading this way. You two have no idea how much responsibility I have--"

"Tell me you haven't gotten everything organized down to the last snow shovel. I _know_ you, Rodney." John's eyes were warm enough that Rodney almost looked away. 

"Well, of course, but--"

"Great! It's a date then. Three o'clock."

"This is-- you can't think for one minute that I am actually going to--"

"And bring your skis." John grabbed a Rittendorf in each hand and started to lead the whole pack toward the pool tables at the back of the bar. "You may be rusty as hell," he called over his shoulder, "but Ronon and I have an idea and I need you to help us test it out."

 

***~*~***

 

He was not checking the clock. He was not checking the clock.

He checked the clock. Two thirty. Dammit.

He looked up at his skis, hanging on the wall. Of course, he wasn't going anywhere. He was long past the point of playing games in the snow. Especially on the afternoon before a storm moved in. Especially if it involved the kind of sliding down a hill any cretin with a trash can lid could do. Even if the OOC had lost their collective minds and made it an Olympic sport. What was next? Olympic snowball fights?

While he was ranting under his breath, he stood up, closed the laptop, picked up his boots and unhooked his skis. He walked out the office door and kicked it shut behind him, then set his shoulders and lifted his chin. Right. Apparently he was doing this. After all, some people were obviously in need of a severe schooling in the skill level required to get down a mountain efficiently, gracefully and yes, dammit, fast. 

Forty-five minutes later he was lying flat on his back in an icy, open tunnel, looking up at his reflection in John Sheppard's aviators and saying, "If you don't stop laughing right this minute, I am going to beat you senseless."

"Come on, McKay, give me a break. How often do you get to hear someone lose their shit that loudly? And using so many words with more than four letters, too. Hey, hey," he added, as Rodney clenched his hands into fists. "No sense getting mad at me, I'm just here to catch you and send you back up to Ronon." John grabbed one of Rodney's hands and pulled him up, then bent down to release him from his board. "He's the one who said you had learn how to do this before we show you our idea."

"Maybe he just wants me out of the way," Rodney muttered, grimacing as he swiped at the freezing water trickling down his neck.

"What?"

"Nothing! Look, I get it, okay? You bump across the pretty, snow covered meadow, then loop up and down a drainage ditch, lather, rinse, repeat, fun, fun, fun. Can you get the behemoth down here so we can discuss whatever it is you need to discuss so I can get back to work?"

"Nope. First you gotta do one run on your feet and not your ass. Come on, Rodney. You're not that old." Sheppard grabbed Rodney's arm and started dragging him toward the lift.

"I'm a year younger than you!"

"Exactly."

"And I am in excellent shape, I'll have you know."

John stopped at the base of the lift, turned to look Rodney up and down and grinned. "Exactly."

Rodney swallowed. Was Sheppard-- John-- Sheppard! Flirting with him? "Just because some of us filled out while some of us stayed disgustingly skinny--"

The loud, growling whoosh of someone shooting out the pipe drowned out the rest of what Rodney was about to say, and just as well. The last thing he needed was Sheppard knowing how much the changes in his body -- and Rodney's -- had occupied Rodney's thoughts these last few weeks.

"You guys ready to jam or should I order coffee and donuts?" Ronon swiftly freed himself from his board, picked it up and sauntered toward them, all slinky muscle under the ridiculously loose-fitting board suit. 

Rodney was about to make a disparaging comment about aerodynamics and the insult thereof, when Ronon barked, "Hustle it up, McKay, it's gonna get dark soon."

"I fail to see--"

"Up!" Ronon practically manhandled him to the lift.

He climbed on with a sigh. They'd only been out here for two runs and it already seemed like an eternity. He hadn't been able to find Cadman yesterday to check on the beer stock and--

"McKay! Stop thinking."

He blinked up at John.

"Okay, just like before, Ronon's going down first and you're going to follow him down. But you've got to stop worrying about the weather and the number of pretzels in the dishes in the lounge and whether it's too many or too few, okay?"

"I do not--"

"McKay, pay attention! Allez, allez, allez!"

Rodney didn't need the push John gave him to help him follow Ronon -- this really was the epitome of point downhill and let gravity do the rest, after all -- but as John let out the familiar start house cry, his mind suddenly stopped rattling around like a hamster on a wheel. He started to observe -- really observe -- what Ronon was doing.

He shouldn't be able to do what he was doing at all, Rodney thought, critically. He was so tall, his center of gravity by rights should be up somewhere around the level of Rodney's ears, and yet, Ronon was able to bend his knees so easily and shift his weight so effortlessly, that Rodney suddenly realized exactly where he was going, and why. There actually was a line here, he thought, excitedly, as he began to mimic Ronon's turns, making adjustments for his own lesser height and weight. There was a way to… yes! He almost laughed as he cut a turn more sharply than Ronon and picked up a couple feet on him. 

By the time they got to the bottom of the run, Rodney was only a yard behind Ronon and crowing. "I did it! And I almost beat you. Hah!"

Ronon rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you almost got me going at quarter speed. Next time, no mercy, McKay."

"Yes, yes, good luck with that, now that I've figured it out. Though I don't see why you thought it was necessary to show me. I'm not stupid, you know. If you'd just explained--"

"Would have, if I could have gotten a word in edge-wise. Besides, Sheppard says no one can convince you of anything you don’t want to be convinced of, but once you get something, you own it pretty quickly. Guess he was right."

Rodney almost missed the lift, then scrambled as Ronon helped him jump on. "John said… um?"

"Yeah. Talks about you sometimes. Smartest skier he ever saw, he says."

"Oh."

"I thought he was pulling my leg. Thought maybe he meant you were just the smartest paper pusher he ever saw. Till now."

Rodney bristled and was working up to a retort when they got to the top of the run. He decided Ronon wasn't worth the effort -- besides, he really was very… large -- and focused his wrath on John instead. "There. I did it. It's not exactly rocket science, after all. I wouldn't even put it on par with a high school level slalom course. You got anything else for me to _own_ Sheppard? Or can I go back to work now?"

John rolled his eyes and handed Ronon a pair of skis. "Jeez, McKay, lighten up. Way to ruin the mood. I was just about to congratulate you. That was awesome."

"It-- Really?" Rodney's ire dissipated rapidly faced with John's beaming smile; the one that featured only a trace of a smirk. "Well, yes, of course. Of course it was."

"Okay, now that you're such a master rider, we can show you the rest. Change your boots and grab your skis."

"What? I'm not changing my boots. It's freezing out here!"

"Oh look, and there's snow all around too. I only just now noticed." John plunked Rodney's ski boots in front of him. "Hurry up, McKay. We're going up top."

"Oh no. No, no. It's going to be dark by five thirty-three today. The lifts stop at five fifteen and there aren't any lights up there."

"Five thirty-three? Are you sure? Not five thirty-five?"

"I'm serious, Sheppard."

"Rodney, we've got thirty minutes till then and since when has it taken me more than five minutes to get down a mountain? And it won't take you or Ronon more than ten."

"Hey!" Rodney glanced over at Ronon, who had objected right along with him.

"Just come _on_."

By the time they had changed gear and gotten up to the top of the mountain, the clouds that had been building all day were truly threatening, though the wind wasn't howling as badly as Rodney had feared. Fine, they could make one pull out the stops run. By then, the floodlights near the bottom would be lit and they shouldn't have too much trouble getting all the way down.

"Okay, here's the deal," Sheppard said. "You ready to race?"

"What? No! I am not going to race you. Or him either! Are you out of your mind? It's dark and--"

"And what? I might beat you?"

"I'm gonna wipe the floor with both of you, McKay, so I don’t see what you're so worried about." Ronon checked his ski bindings and put away his sunglasses, looking relaxed and ready to pound the mountain into submission.

"Oh please. I designed these runs! Of course you're not going to beat me! It's just--"

"Fifty bucks I win the first leg." John said, eyes lit. He looked like a retriever about to jump into a frozen lake just for the hell of it. "Fifty more that Ronon wins the whole shebang. Fifty on top of that unless you beat both of us at any point."

"Leg? What leg? What are you talking about?"

"You'll see. Three, two, one--"

"Go, go, go!" Ronon's roar drowned out John's, "Allez, allez, allez!" and Rodney's squeaking, "Are you both insane?" And then Ronon was gone, with John a hurtling, black streak right behind him.

"Oh for god's sake," Rodney muttered. He dug in his poles and took off after them.

It had been years since Rodney had done anything close to downhill racing, and it had never been his favorite thing in the first place. He knew that at a certain level it took skill, but in his humble opinion, brute strength and a complete and utterly moronic inability to feel fear were more important. It had also been years since he had watched John almost fall down the side of a mountain, throwing his body forward with abandon. Rodney had to admit, as John whooshed past Ronon on a particularly steep and nasty straight, that it was a beautiful thing to see. Though how John hadn't killed himself or broken every bone in his body by this point in his life was a miracle.

As he picked up speed -- by necessity, or he was going to get stuck up here in the looming darkness -- he took a deep breath and let his mind relax, pleased with the way his skis ran smooth as silk over the packed snow. Inertia was a wonderful thing, when you gave into it. He felt himself grin as he carved the last turn toward the bottom of the run, then composed himself on the final straight so as not to give away how much he'd enjoyed the last minute and a half.

He couldn't tell who had won the race. "Hey, wait up," he called, startled. John and Ronon, far from celebrating, were hustling toward the top of the slalom course that started to the right of the run they'd just finished. 

"You better hurry up, McKay, you're already down fifty bucks," John called.

Rodney watched as John slogged through deep snow, Ronon several feet behind him. Oh fine, _now_ they were going to race -- really race, not just see who could glide the fastest. The shallow run to their left was actually more contiguous with the one they'd just come down, and easier to get to, but whatever. Rodney knew both like the back of his hand, and they really were stupid if they thought they could beat him on a slalom course. He huffed a bit in consternation as the wet snow dragged at his skis, but he still made the start only moments after Ronon had started down with another tree-shaking bellow.

This run was steeper than the one they'd just left, and naturally required careful concentration on the turns. Seeing as _nobody_ turned better than Rodney, he made up time pretty quickly. "Watch it, watch it!" he yelled as he made a sharp cut inside Ronon's line. He ignored the growl behind him and set his sights on Sheppard. He calculated he would pick him up and pass him in four turns.

He actually made it in three, crowing as he did so. He'd only thrown up a _little_ snow as he ran by; he didn't know what Sheppard was squawking about. He turned to wait the two seconds it took for Sheppard to get to the bottom. Enjoying the look of determination on John's face, he said, "I told you--"

Sheppard ignored him as he released his skis and started an ungainly run toward… oh. They had come out at the top of the snowcross course. "Tell me when we actually finish the race, McKay," Sheppard yelled back over his shoulder.

Rodney yelped as Ronon slid to a stop beside him, showering Rodney with the same amount of snow he'd dished out on the way down the hill, plus interest. 

"I hope you have cash on you, McKay," Ronon puffed. "I don't take checks." 

He had tossed aside his skis and was gone before Rodney had even thrown down his poles, but once Rodney got going, he reached the snowcross course only a few steps behind Ronon. John had already pulled off one boot and was working on the other, cursing and laughing as snow stuck to his socks. Ronon got his boots off and slid his feet into the snowboard boots already clamped to his board faster than Rodney could even see, and the two of them went over the top neck and neck.

"Agghhh!" Rodney shouted in frustration, adrenalin and the old, almost forgotten competitive drive wiping out common sense. He got his boots off and almost leaped into the air at the cold, wet feeling of snow under his sweaty-socked feet. "Shit, shit, shit, you must be joking!" he yelled at nobody in particular. He gratefully slid his feet into the boots clamped into the last board, not even sparing a moment to wonder how it had gotten there, and followed the others over the top like a middle-aged lemming.

The were so far ahead he could barely see them, but he could hear them; Ronon's roar of triumph and John's frustrated yell that quickly became a laugh. The sound bounced over Rodney as he applied all he had learned earlier and slid along the fastest line he could pick out over the snowcross course and then into the floodlit, open tunnel of the half-pipe. Of course, by the time he came barreling out the end, he was still well behind Ronon and John, who were waiting for him with big, cheesy grins on their faces. 

Distracted by the sight of Zelenka standing next to them, grin equally cheesy, and with a video camera held out in front of him, Rodney yelled, "Oh, you can't be serious!" and forgot everything Ronon had shown him about how to stop. Ronon leaped out of the way, but John, the idiot, tied to catch him, and Rodney swerved just in time. Well, almost in time. He heard a familiar "Oof," as he grazed John's shoulder, and then, "Svatá-- ach, bože, Rodney!" as he barreled into Zelenka.

The ice was freezing his back and oh, wasn't that a familiar feeling these days. He rolled his eyes and belatedly reached over and patted Zelenka. "You okay, Radek?"

The curses he got in reply comforted him. If Radek was really hurt, he wouldn’t say anything. 

For the second time that day, John loomed over him. "Okay, buddy?" He looked over at Radek. "Zelenka?"

"I am in much better shape than my camera. Which is okay, because now McKay will buy me a new one. HD, Rodney. You owe me."

"Please. Throw the pieces over here so I can roll on them some more, why don't you? I don't think I've got nearly enough gouges in my ass."

Having detached himself from the small crowd that had gathered around them, Ronon strolled over, smirked, "Not bad, McKay," and lifted Zelenka up bodily. He nodded solemnly as if he understood the flood of Czech coming from about a foot and a half below his shoulder as they walked off.

John reached down a hand. "You spend a lot more time on the ground now than I remember from the old days, McKay."

"Oh shut up."

John was backlit by the enormous floodlights that circled the snowboard course, but Rodney could still see the high color in his cheeks and the irrepressible light in his eyes. Could see them so well he almost swallowed his tongue at how gorgeous and happy John looked. He hesitated before taking the offered hand, willing away the temptation to pull John down on top of him and claim a reward for being a good sport and finishing this stupid race alive. 

Alive and breathing and so fucking turned on he ached with it. 

Oh, God.

 

***~*~***

 

It wasn't often that Rodney took advantage of the shower in the men's locker room, since a day spent on the phone or in front of a computer rarely worked him into enough of a sweat to need one. As it was, he begged off going in with John and Ronon, claiming he had to check in with Elizabeth. After waiting to be sure John had finished and was no doubt back in the bar hustling schoolchildren for quarters, Rodney enjoyed a long, hot and blissfully isolated shower. He thought for a moment about finishing with a blast of cold water, just in case, then rolled his eyes at himself. He wasn't nineteen anymore. Which meant he was perfectly capable of controlling his baser feelings and not allowing them to control him, thank you very much.

Self-indulgence had cost him dearly once. That wasn't going to happen again. About to dress in his spare set of sweats for the necessarily quick, freezing cold walk to his condo, he abruptly changed his mind. The resort was hushed, battened down for the coming storm. He'd prepared as well as he could, but he knew the next couple days could get hairy, and he also knew he wouldn’t be getting much sleep, or a chance to relax. The shower had done wonders for the joint aches that, together with a feeling of pride and one spectacular bruise on his hip, were his only tangible reward for running John's ridiculous race, but he knew they'd get worse. There was also a downside to not being nineteen anymore.

He wrapped his towel more firmly around his waist and headed out the back door of the locker room. Atlantis Spa was going to be the pride and joy of Pegasus once Elizabeth finally finished remodeling it. At least the new sauna was operational and would probably be empty now. Most of the guests and staff who were planning to ride out the storm would be at dinner and everyone else had gone back to town. 

When he reached the heavy door, he noted that its tiny porthole of a window was almost opaque with condensation. He glanced at the controls. Someone had left the temperature way too high. Trust the people who didn't pay the bills to be so careless. He stomped into the dim, fragrant darkness, then froze.

"Rodney, you're letting all the steam out."

Somewhere, some deity, in whom he absolutely, positively did not believe, _really_ hated him.

John was lying on the back bench. Completely nude of course. As Rodney started to back out with a strangled, "Oh, um…" John sat up and flipped a towel over his lap.

"It doesn't work with the door open, Rodney. Come in and shut the damn door."

Blankly, he shut the door behind him and walked two steps to the bench closest to it. John didn't lie back down, but just sat there, towel still over his lap. Rodney wasn't even going to analyze that. He left his own towel on, too.

John leaned back and half-closed his eyes and Rodney found himself reviewing the last spread sheet he'd looked at in a desperate attempt not to conjure up the brief glimpse he'd gotten of all six feet two inches of Sheppard naked. He shook his head, got up and poured some water on the hot stones piled in the center of the room. Fresh steam clouded his view of John, who was lounging like a leopard following a tasty snack. And oh, Rodney's brain truly was mush if all it could come up with today where John was concerned was dog and cat metaphors.

As steam continued to billow up, John leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. His hair had finally met its match and was laying mostly flat, making him look younger and more vulnerable. To his surprise, Rodney missed the cockscomb, and didn’t exactly welcome this reminder of John Sheppard, twenty year-old downhill phenom and love of Rodney's life. Well, as much of one as a person could be, after a three night stand.

"So what do you think?" John said.

Rodney swallowed. "A-- about?"

"The race, McKay. We figure we could sell it as a triathlon-type deal or a relay. Maybe both. We could get some pros in, or, I don't know, ex-pros -- between us, we probably have the guys still hanging around the North American and European circuits covered -- and we could do a charity run, maybe, for publicity--"

Showers were good for organizing one's thoughts, even warm ones. Over the last fifteen minutes, he'd let his mind wander over Sheppard, sure, but also Sheppard's and Ronon's race. Much to his delight, he'd solved its biggest problem in a flash of inspiration. He snorted. "Now I know why you came to me."

"What?"

"Oh yes, I can just see a bunch of too cool for school pro skiers and board riders hopping around in the snow while they change boots in the middle of a race. How _will_ they handle all those groupies, once they get a load of that?"

John scowled. "Don't tell me you didn't have fun out there, McKay, I saw you. So your feet got a little wet--"

"A little? I still can't feel my toes! It's a good thing I'm as fast as I am, or frostbite would have set in!"

To his surprise, instead of yelling back at him, John licked his lips and looked down at Rodney's bare feet. "Are you-- You're not--"

"No, you simpleton, I'm kidding. Well, I'm kidding about the frostbite, but not the fact that if Zelenka's video had survived my new nickname was going to be Dances in Socks."

John looked mulish. "Well I had fun. And by the way, you owe me a hundred bucks."

"You can take it off my bill."

"Bill for what?"

"The revolutionary McKay Convertible Ski Slash Board Boot that I am going to design. Not to mention the detachable board bindings to go with it. No need to thank me, and yes, it is more than you deserve. God, I really am a genius."

"The McKay Convertible… Okay. And this revolutionary boot is going to be designed by you and what engineering team?"

"Oh, please. I _have_ a degree in engineering. I also have an enormous brain, I have Zelenka, and he has a workshop. Why would I need an engineering team?"

Abruptly, John leaned back against the wall. Three hushed breaths later, almost meditatively, he said, "Thanks, Rodney." He didn't smile, but the vertical line between his brows cleared as he looked intently at Rodney with… gratitude? Humor? …Pleasure? God, why was Rodney so bad at reading expressions? He blamed the steam. 

"I um-- Okay, yes, it's an excellent concept," Rodney said, deciding to ignore the implications of that look the same way he was ignoring the towel business. "The race, I mean. Obviously all your focus is on going fast, so you need someone who can work out the nitty gritty, Point A to Point B details. Because those so clearly aren't your strong suit--" And he almost choked, as he realized he had said something entirely too similar for comfort, to John, twenty years ago, at a drunken party in an Olympic Village, which had led to… something he did _not_ want to bring up.

"What would we do without you, McKay," John said dryly. How nice for him, sitting there, relaxed and apparently flashback-free.

Rodney cleared his throat and said, cautiously, "So, do you-- are you going to franchise the idea, or try to build a circuit or--" He paused as John's hand came up to absently scratch his belly, then rub up his chest through the sweat pouring off his skin.

"I don't know. I'm-- I'm getting a little tired of moving around. You know how it is."

"No. No, actually I don't," Rodney snapped.

"Hmm." John lifted the edge of the towel to wipe his face, then looked at Rodney speculatively. "You got a degree?"

"Yes. I--" Did John really want to know this? From the look on his face, he did. "I went back to school after I left the circuit. I-- I got a respectable job and then I… missed the mountains. So. Eventually I found my way here."

"How long have you been here?"

"Seven years."

John smiled, the first real smile he'd given Rodney since he walked in the door. "Yeah, I figured it had been a while. The way people talk about you around here it's like you're part of the place."

"People… Oh, no, no. You can't believe everything you hear, you know. I'm a tough boss, but I'm quite fair. Which god knows, considering the amount of whining I have to put up with--"

"Relax, McKay. They like you. They really like you. Well." John looked thoughtful in a way that was clearly feigned. "Most of them do."

"Oh, good god, do not even tell me you've been talking to Cadman. The woman is certifiable."

John slouched back against the wall again, but now he just looked tired. He rubbed his shoulder and said, "I'm glad you enjoyed the race. I knew if we could convince you-- well. You know. You're the smartest guy I know about… a lot of things. And, um. Yeah. Thanks."

Rodney had the sudden and ridiculous urge to walk across the sauna and, in the most asexual way possible, give John a hug. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you-- your shoulder, when I ran into you?"

"Huh? No, you barely touched me. This is-- Christ, I can't even remember where I got this. Vail, maybe. The weird thing is, it hurts more as I start to loosen up. It goes away eventually."

Okay, Rodney thought, they were now officially getting into a weird area, when a casual statement like that sounded like the best metaphor for his personal life he'd ever heard. "Um, I think the masseuse might still be here," he said hesitantly.

John's head had been down as he rubbed his shoulder; now he looked up through the damp hair hanging over his eyes. His lips twisted in a half-smirk, half-smile. "Thanks. I can deal."

Rodney involuntarily smiled back, then felt his mouth go slack as he stared at John's bright eyes and the sweat rolling down his flushed cheeks. 

He abruptly got up and poured another cupful of water over the rocks. "Don't stay in here too long, John. And don't fall asleep, okay?"

John blinked slowly at him, then gave a little shrug. He stretched back out on the bench, closed his eyes and nodded.

Rodney resolutely walked to the locker room, changed clothes and headed to his condo to wait for the storm. And if he called the masseuse, the spa attendant and room service on the way and directed them to do a number of things that he thought would make John's night easier, well. No one had to know about that.

 

***~*~***

 

The storm lasted three days. 

Rodney spent the first day in his office, though there wasn't nearly as much to do as he'd thought there might be. His preparations were solid and his staff trained for what to expect.

The second night, they lost power from the main line. That was the first time he'd seen John since the sauna. He'd been passing through the bar, which was operating by candlelight to conserve the generator, and had waved distractedly at John and Ronon, who were seated by the fire with a cheerful mix of guests and instructors.

"Hey Rodney, I'm telling 'em about the time you missed a gate at Saalbach, climbed back up and went through, then still won because nobody else could handle the course," John called out.

"Oh? And did you also tell them about the 300 pound swordfish I caught in Lake Champlain?" Rodney snorted, to general laughter. As he kept walking, heading for the kitchens to see if Elizabeth needed any help, his breath caught. That race had not only happened the way John described, it had happened in 1991. Long after John Sheppard had stopped paying any attention to anything Rodney was doing. Or so he had assumed. That was… something he would think about later, he told himself determinedly.

The third day, they got the power back on, but snow and wind were still screaming over the mountain. Rodney was at the point of suggesting that every stir-crazed idiot in the lodge climb up to the roof and jump off into a snow drift, because they were all driving him nuts. The only reason he didn't suggest it was that he knew at least half of them would do it, with Sheppard and Dex leading the way.

"You!" he barked at Zelenka, who was creating a Rube Goldberg device on top of the bar using swizel sticks, a string of Christmas lights, a ping pong ball and a margarita glass. "We're going to the shop. Now!"

"What for?"

"I'll tell you when we get there! And you!" he yelled at Dex, who was sitting by the fire, idly strumming a battered guitar and listening to Keller, the Ski Patrol EMT, read… was that _Little Women_? "Where's Sheppard?"

"Don't know. He and Teyla went somewhere."

"Oh. Well, you and Zelenka come with me. We're going to invent something revolutionary."

"I will bring beer," Radek said.

Which is how they all -- including Keller -- ended up in Zelenka's shop, and spent an enjoyable twenty minutes eviscerating an old pair of ski boots and Ronon's fifth-best board boots.

Sheppard and Teyla wandered into the shop about the time Rodney was using a hunting knife to flay open the second board boot. He looked up to see them laughing, heads together, and almost flayed his thumb. "Something funny?" he asked.

"John was just telling me of the time he and some friends taught a pig to ski."

"John is just full of stories these days," Rodney muttered.

"What you got here, Rodney?" John peered down at the work table.

"Stand back, I am about to make history. And change your life."

John was still looking down at the boot carcass on the table, but Rodney could see him lick his lips. "You seem to make a habit of that."

"Yes, well. Zelenka!" He felt himself flush and hoped nobody in the room noticed. With an imperious snap of his fingers, he barked, "Hinge!"

Rodney was pleased with the way his vision took shape. Okay, maybe not the part where one half of the McKay Convertible Ski/Board Boot was pink and the other half purple, but Keller claimed she'd buy a pair only if it came in those colors, so maybe they were on to something. 

The final product was a crude prototype, but still close to what Rodney had imagined. It had the hard, fixed angle of a ski boot until a pin on each side was released. Then a hinge allowed the board boot top to move freely, so the rider could control his board. Most importantly, nobody would have to hop around in the snow to get into the damned things.

John was drafted for the first test run, and stood easily on top of a snowboard laid across a set of rollers. In the outlandish boots, bending his knees and shifting his weight, he was more attractive than any guinea pig had a right to be. He clapped Zelenka on the shoulder, flirted with Keller and laughed with Teyla, and Rodney found himself feeling… happy. Even if John hadn't really said much to him except, "Hey, Rodney, if the ski director thing gets old, I hear Project Runway calling your name."

Ronon strolled over as Rodney was stowing the tools. "Hey." His voice was a quieter rumble than usual. "This might work. Good job, McKay."

"Hmm, yes," Rodney said. "Never underestimate the inspirational power of having to run through the snow in your socks."

"So." Ronon's voice dropped even more. "You know if she's seeing anyone?"

"Who, Teyla?"

"Keller."

"I-- Keller?" Rodney looked over to where Keller was coaxing one boot off John so she could try it on. "Keller? Why would I know-- Do I look like a gossip columnist to you? I have no idea. Anyway, I thought you and Sheppar--" He abruptly snapped his lips closed.

"Me and Sheppard what?"

He kept his mouth tightly shut for all of two seconds, then burst out, "You know! You hang out together, you travel together--" He stopped in confusion as Ronon looked down at him with an enormous grin. He didn't laugh, which Rodney counted as a kindness.

"No, McKay, we're not-- you know."

"Oh." Rodney put his head down and pretended the information didn't matter.

"For one thing, I don't swing that way."

"Oh, I'm--" Oh, god. "I didn't mean--"

"Relax, McKay, I don't mind. And Sheppard…"

"Sh- Sheppard?"

"Yeah, well, Sheppard swings… every way, I think. He just doesn't… swing, very often."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it's weird. Eh, maybe he's just really picky. Or you know, he _is_ pretty old."

"Oh, that is not even funny."

Ronon walked back over to the group around the board and reached out to steady Keller, who was now wearing both boots and swinging back and forth, holding John's hand. John was smiling, no doubt completely oblivious to what that did to Rodney.

He absently picked plastic shavings and foam insulation off the work bench, then glanced over at the group again. This time John's smile was directed only at him. "Thanks, McKay," he said, in a quiet voice. Rodney was pretty sure he kept smiling, even when Rodney abruptly announced that, unlike some people, he had work to do, and walked, in a perfectly composed way, back to his office. 

He sat in front of the satellite image on his computer and contemplated the mindless, muddled, twisting storm clouds with an uncomfortable, kindred feeling. The screen might as well be labeled "McKay's Stupid Head, February 7, 2008." He shook himself and, with an annoyed snort, opened a spreadsheet on top of the satellite image. After three minutes of staring at it, without comprehending a single thing on the page, he snapped the laptop shut and rifled through his desk for scrap paper.

Most of his design work was done on the computer these days, but sometimes, he liked doing things the old way, where he could see the whole concept at a glance. The note paper he finally pulled from the back of a drawer had a frog at the top, with a little speech balloon that said, "Have a hoppy day!"

He picked up his drafting pen and deliberately wrote, "John," at the top of the page. After several seconds of consideration, he added, "Sheppard," and underlined both words twice. Underneath, he wrote, "Plan of Attack," and then the number one. He bent over the page, and began to write furiously.

 

***~*~***

 

The day after the storm was refreshingly clear. When the sun came up it would reveal slopes covered in deep, tempting powder. The hordes would be coming up the mountain any moment now, and Rodney's first order of business was to take care of the potential avalanche risk at the top of the uppermost runs.

"You ready?" he said to Lorne as they met at the ski shop.

"Let's do it." Lorne had the case of charges under one arm, the last thing, besides Rodney and himself, to go into the waiting helicopter.

"Hey McKay, wait up!"

Rodney turned to find Ronon and his snowboard advancing on them. "Oh no. Don't even think about it."

"You seriously think I'm going to pass up a chance to be the first one down through all that powder?"

"Dex, there is not enough insurance in the _world_ \--"

"Oh, untwist a little, McKay. I'm not gonna sue anyone. Once you set off those things, it'll be fine. You can drop me at the top and I'll be at the bottom before you even land."

Rodney peered behind Ronon. "Where's Sheppard? The two of you together could no doubt set off an avalanche all on your own, but at least I wouldn't have to worry about you being alone."

"You kidding? He's got clients booked up the wazoo. Come on, McKay. I'll be fine."

Rodney took in Ronon's glowing face. Sometimes, because of his size, it was easy to forget how young he was. And Rodney was _not_ a twisted up-- whatever, no matter what anyone might think. 

"You have your transponder?" 

Ronon rolled his eyes and nodded. 

"Okay, but if you don't come down off that mountain in one piece, I'll confine you to the bunny hill for the rest of the season."

"Deal," Ronon yelled and brushed past McKay to jog toward the chopper.

"If you tell anyone about this, you're on oil change duty for every vehicle on this place," Rodney growled at Lorne.

"I don't know why that's such a threat, I have to do that anyway," Lorne retorted. But he was smiling as he climbed into he pilot's seat, making Rodney wonder if his reputation as the biggest, meanest boss this side of the Rockies was about to undergo a change. Rodney blamed John Sheppard. It seemed the thing to do.

 

***~*~***

 

Yes, Rodney, thought. It was probably best to blame John Sheppard for _everything_. He couldn't remember why that was, but somehow he knew it to be true. He was freezing cold, his hair was soaking wet and he couldn't feel his feet. He opened his eyes to the eerie blue of packed snow overhead, then cursed as a frigid drop of water plopped down and hit his cheek. As he reached up to wipe it away, the last few minutes he'd been conscious came flooding back. 

He remembered… The flight to the top of the mountain. The stunning view of the snow-covered range encompassed by the Athosian reservation laid out before them. The teeth rattling explosions as the charges he dropped so precisely took down one delicate, deadly cornice after another. 

He'd been doing this for years, and the method to laying the charges was no mystery. It was all physics. The mass of powder, accelerated just so, multiplied to create unimaginable force. They had finished quickly, just as the sun rose full. The snow was as tamed and settled as he could manage. 

They'd hovered a few feet over the top of the mountain to drop off Ronon. He remembered Ronon's excited smile as he'd practically dived over the side. They weren't going to leave him, of course. They'd follow at a safe distance, so the vibrations of the chopper wouldn’t cause its own set of problems.

He remembered Lorne radioing the all clear back to base and the notification that they were heading in. He remembered the flicker of concern on Lorne's face at the first, unexpected, shuddering hiccup of the rotor overhead, Lorne's emphatic, "May Day! May Day!" into the radio and he remembered… nothing after that.

God damn you, Sheppard, he thought, as he gazed at the blue ice overhead. You come back and taunt me to make a move (at least, I think that's what you've been doing) and I act like a grownup because I am not going through that with you again. And just when I decide what the hell… because yes, I _have_ decided what the hell, why not, I deserve another chance at your beautiful mouth and your clever hands and your annoyingly fit ass, and then I go and die in a helicopter crash. Your timing is lousy as usual. Why the hell didn’t you come to Pegasus last year, dammit?

"Hey, McKay, you awake?"

Great, and now he was hallucinating. "Oh, just leave me alone and let me sleep," he mumbled.

"McKay." The hallucination was shaking his shoulder. 

He opened one eye and thought, huh, that's a detailed hallucination and I wish I had all that hair. I'd die a hell of a lot warmer. 

"McKay, come on. I need you to help me splint Lorne's leg. He's in a lot of pain."

"What?"

"Get up, McKay. I know you hit your head pretty hard, but you've been mostly conscious for the last ten minutes, so I think you're okay and no way in hell am I letting you sleep."

Rodney blinked, then lifted up enough to prop himself on his elbows. He was lying in a respectably-sized snow cave, not in an air pocket under a hundred feet snow, as he'd first thought. Golden sunlight glanced through the opening six feet from him. If he'd had his wits about him, he would have realized that was the only reason he'd been able to see at all. Lorne was lying perpendicular to him, a grimace on his face as Ronon lined up broken tree boughs alongside his right leg. 

"Good god," Rodney said to Ronon, as he scrambled to his feet. "Did you-- You rescued us?"

"I haven't rescued anyone yet, McKay."

"You rescued us, McKay. Believe it or not." Lorne's voice was thready and he sounded really, really annoyed.

"What? I don't remember--"

"Yeah, 'cause you hit your head pretty hard. I landed the chopper--"

"You landed-- I thought we crashed!"

"Nah, I set it down." Lorne waved his hand as if landing a malfunctioning helicopter about to smash into the side of a mountain was an everyday occurence for him. "We thought everything was okay, but then the damned thing started to roll. I kept trying to hold it steady, and you finally pushed me out and jumped after me. The whole thing went ass over teakettle ten seconds later. It's lying in a heap in some trees about a quarter mile down the slope."

"I pushed you?"

"Well yeah. Sorta dragged and pushed. And you were yelling a lot. I wanted to stay with her, but-- Thanks, by the way, even if I did break my damn leg on the way down."

"And you…?" He turned to Ronon.

"Saw you go down. Pulled you down here and dug in to get us out of the wind. Patrol should be here soon."

"Right," Rodney said, then, "Oh my god, let me do that." He knelt down next to Lorne. "Do they not teach first aid at snowboard camp?" 

The two of them spent an unpleasant ten minutes binding the splint to Lorne's lower leg, which was bent at a nasty angle. When they were done, Rodney stomped outside the snow cave and shielded his eyes against the glare. He gave a shudder at the only part of the helicopter he could see, a twisted rotor blade about a hundred feet down the slope.

"Know where we are?" Ronon ducked out of the cave and stood next to him.

"Of course! Well. I know the general direction, and besides, it isn't nearly as necessary for me to know where we are as for search and rescue to pick up our transponders. And if they don't get here soon and we have to find our own way down, I am going to hand Keller her head for making us go through disaster drills that were obviously meaningless exercises!"

"Sheppard always says the louder you get, the less sure you are of what you're saying."

"Do you two talk about anything besides me?"

Ronon just smirked. 

After a few more minutes spent stamping their feet to stay warm, Rodney crawled back into the cave to check on Lorne. "You okay, Evan?"

Lorne blinked up at him and grimaced. "Yeah, I'm okay. I wish we'd grabbed the med kit with the pain killers in it from the chopper, but I guess we were kind of busy surviving and all. I'll live." He closed his eyes again; Rodney could tell despite his stoic response that he was in a good deal of pain.

"Dammit," Rodney said under his breath. 

He was contemplating climbing down the slope to see if he could find the medical kit in the debris field, when Ronon roared, "McKay!"

"What? What? What's wrong?"

Ronon ducked his head into the cave entrance. "Engines. Dogs."

Rodney scrambled out into the open. His breath was so loud in his own ears, at first he could hear nothing else, but then, faintly, the high-pitched, full-throated yapping of a scent hound pack came floating up the mountain. He'd know that sound anywhere. They were safe. "Teyla!" He yelled. "Up here!" he shook Ronon's shoulder. "Yell!"

They yelled loud enough to shake loose snow off the branches of the surrounding trees, then yelled even louder as the sound of the dog pack was joined by the roar of snowmobiles. 

He had to spend an annoying minute fending off the enthusiastic greeting of the dogs , then sighed with relief as three snowmobiles converged on them, carrying Teyla, Keller and Teyla's dog team leader, Jinto. To Rodney's surprise, he realized the black-suited figure seated behind Teyla was John.

"Lorne!" He ducked into the cave. "Get ready, we're going to get you out." He scrambled out of the cave, then let out a yelp. A shiny thermal blanket came down over his head, then wrapped so tightly around him he could hardly breath. He pushed his head up out of its crackling folds and stared down at Sheppard, who was holding the blanket tight with one hand and digging in a pack with the other. "What are you--? Oh, thank you."

Rodney accepted the bottle of water gratefully. He drank the whole thing as he watched Sheppard help to load Lorne onto the sled behind one of the snowmobiles. It was big enough to carry three bodies. God only knew what the searchers had expected to find.

"Rodney, are you okay?" Once they got Evan situated, Teyla actually put her arms around him. He looked over at John as he stood mutely by Ronon, then back down into Teyla's worried face.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. I hit my head, I think."

"No guessing about that, McKay," Ronon said. "You were out cold."

Keller bustled over from where she had been tending to Lorne. "You need to be checked for a concussion, Rodney," she said. She snapped on a pen light and he gave a long-suffering sigh as she dazzled his eyes with it. "Okay, for now. I'll check again when we get down to the med station."

"And then you need to see a doctor, Rodney," Teyla chimed in. "And you as well, Ronon, even if you are not hurt. You need to be seen for frostbite at the very least."

"What I really need is a beer."

"All the beer," Rodney replied, with another glance at John. "All the beer in the world is yours. _Canadian_ beer. I insist."

Ronon smirked. "Told you it was a good idea to bring me along." He clapped John on the shoulder. "Come on, Sheppard. Let's get out of here."

Rodney winced at John's imperceptible flinch. John's face was composed, but his eyes were terrifying, full of pain and fear. He looked as if the search had ended badly, instead of relatively easily and well. Flashback, Rodney suspected, and felt the overwhelming urge to walk over and comfort him, though he wasn't exactly sure how. "Hey, we're alive," he wanted to say. If he were really brave, he'd say, "You won't get rid of me so easily this time."

But apparently Rodney's bravery only extended to saving people during helicopter crashes. He was hustled onto the back of a snowmobile and carried back down the mountain before he could get the words out.

 

***~*~***

 

Rodney shut the door to his condo with a weary sigh. It felt nearly as cold inside as it did out, as he always turned the thermostat down as low as it could go when he wasn't here. No matter, it would warm up enough for him to change and get into bed. They'd fed him and Ronon like conquering heroes up at the resort restaurant. John and Teyla had disappeared to meet clients. Rodney had brushed off Elizabeth's protests and checked in with the staff on what turned out to be an extraordinarily busy day for business, even with a quarter of the mountain off limits until all the pieces of the morning's adventure had been picked up. 

He'd worked a couple hours, which had helped settle him, and now all that was needed to put this day behind him was to set the alarm clock and try to get some sleep.

He slept for a few hours in his borrowed t-shirt and sweats, too exhausted to change. He was half-expecting either Elizabeth or Teyla to check on him, so the knock on the door later in the evening came as no surprise.

"Teyla, I told you-- Oh."

John stomped his boots on Rodney's doormat, then brushed past him.

"Come in, why don't you," Rodney said blankly to the empty doorway, then shut the door and turned to face John. Who wasn't there. "Sheppard?"

John came walking back into the living room, having obviously rifled Rodney's hall closet for a blanket and pillow. "I'm staying overnight," he announced. He threw the bedding on the sofa, then walked over to examine the gas fireplace. "Jesus, Rodney, it's freezing in here. Does this thing even work?"

"It works, but I hardly ever--" With a whoosh, the fire ignited, and danced cheerily -- mockingly, Rodney thought -- over the ceramic logs. "Use it," he said.

John looked up at him, an odd, speculative look on his face. This was the last thing Rodney needed, another go-round about… whatever.

"Look," he said, as John shrugged off his jacket and started to walk toward him. "I don't need a nursemaid. Go away-- mnph."

The only thing gentle about the kiss was that John used his hand to cradle Rodney's head and keep it from knocking against the door. Rodney automatically shut his eyes. He breathed, sort of, through his nose as John slid his tongue into Rodney's mouth and his thankfully warm other hand up under Rodney's shirt. All Rodney could do was hum in surprise. He started to see stars and felt his knees begin to buckle as John made an impatient sound, then licked at Rodney's tongue and curled his own around it. 

As Rodney really did start to slide to the floor, and oh, wasn't that just the perfect end to all this, him on the ground _again_ , John lifted his mouth. He was breathing hard and his eyes were closed. When he finally opened them, they were foggy with the same worry and hurt they'd shown up on the mountain, plus… oh god, desire so strong, Rodney's knees finally gave up. 

"Are you hurt somewhere else?" John gasped as he grabbed Rodney around the waist and pulled him up. "Did I hurt you?" He started to run his fingers through Rodney's hair.

"No, no, you didn't hurt me! You almost gave me a heart attack, but you didn't--"

"Sit down," John said, and dragged him to the couch. "Jesus, McKay, if you _ever_ do anything like that to me again--"

"I don't want to sit down," Rodney said, as he sat. "And I didn't do anything! The helicopter crashed. Not my fault! I want to go to- to-- Look, what is this? You don't even acknowledge I exist for twenty years and then you practically smother me up on the mountain and _then_ , you show up here acting like-- what are you _doing_?

John was kneeling in front of him, pulling off his socks. "Checking for frostbite, what does it look like I'm doing?"

"Keller already did that. I'm fine, just-- Oh, god." Rodney fell back against the sofa as John's big hands enveloped one bare foot and started to rub and squeeze. His feet really were fine, but they'd been cold all day and had never truly warmed up. Now they were rapidly warming. In fact, every part of him was rapidly warming. 

He looked down at John's bent head, then reached out tentatively to touch the spiky strands that had been tempting him for weeks. So soft. Just as soft as he remembered. "Are you really--" he choked. "Do you really want--"

John just butted his head up against Rodney's hand, then looked up and smiled. This time Rodney was somewhat prepared as John swooped up and whispered against his mouth, "Yeah, Rodney. I really want."

Rodney tightened his grip in John's hair and pulled him in. He pushed his tongue into John's mouth, sliding deep over and over again. He was so preoccupied with the heady taste and slick feel that he mindlessly moved exactly where John's hands guided him. He lifted his hips and felt his sweats being pulled down. He barely had time to realize that he was so hard it hurt when John broke the kiss and bent down to rub and swirl his tongue around the tip of Rodney's cock. Then he fit his lips around it and slowly slid down.

"Oh god," Rodney gasped. The muscles in his ass clenched and his hips bucked involuntarily. "I'm not-- wait, wait--"

"Hmm, no," John muttered, pulling off. He sat back and suddenly grinned as he caught Rodney's astonished gaze. He leaned back in and ran his tongue up the length of Rodney's cock. "Mmmhmm, no frostbite here." He was breathing hard. "But wait, I gotta check--" And he ran his tongue back down and then over Rodney's balls, pushing just hard enough, licking, and-- was that his hand? God, yes, John's fingers, a little rough, sliding behind Rodney's balls, pressing up, and Rodney gave a frustrated sound as he tried to spread his legs with borrowed sweat pants rucked down around his knees.

And then it didn't matter as John opened his mouth and swallowed him down again. He was humming, then sucking so hard; like he was starving for it. Starving for Rodney, and if Rodney'd had two neurons to rub together a that point, he would have tried to analyze that, because John starving for _him_ was-- oh dear god. Rodney keened helplessly and no, no good; neurons all gone. John got in two or three more hard, greedy sucks, before Rodney gave a warning, "Unnngh," and tried to push John's head out of the way. 

He made another strangled sound, then his hips jerked up spastically as he came and came with one hand buried in John's hair and the other cupping the back of his neck. His chin dropped to his chest and he took a couple deep breaths before he loosened his grip and hoped he hadn't done any damage. He floated for a moment, completely boneless and not entirely sure what had just happened.

As his brain started to knit itself back together, he realized three things: his head hurt like hell, John's head was resting on Rodney's thigh, and he was making a pained, frustrated noise that hurt Rodney's heart. 

"Come up here," Rodney said. "Come up, up, now." His arms were pretty well useless, but he managed to get John onto the couch next to him, and to take John's hot, rigid cock in his hand. John had gotten as far as getting his jeans unbuttoned. Rodney would do the rest.

He shifted so he was facing John and took a chance to look into his eyes. Those usually distant eyes now filled with pleasure; such a naked look, Rodney almost wished he'd close them. "It's okay," he crooned, feeling a little silly, but still loving the way John shuddered as Rodney's fist glided up his cock in one luxurious pull. "Come on, John."

"Hnh." John threw his head back.

Rodney, never one to miss an obvious cue -- well, almost never -- leaned over and whispered in his ear, "John, my god, do you know, do you know how many times I thought of you just like this? Just like this, hard and hot and thick in my hand? In my mouth, god, in my ass--" and that was it.

John arched his back and hot, sticky liquid spurted so hard it spattered up Rodney's t-shirt and then dripped over his hand. He used it to lubricate a couple more glides of his hand, gentling John down as his harsh breathing slowed and his body relaxed. 

Rodney released John's cock reluctantly when he made an inarticulate sound of discomfort. Sensitive. He was sensitive after, Rodney remembered. He smiled as John's head dropped forward and came to rest on Rodney's shoulder.

After a minute, John said, "Jesus, Rodney, look at your t-shirt."

Rodney's eyes opened and looked down. "That's okay. It's not my mine."

Once they started laughing, it was hard to stop. Rodney's head really ached now. It was getting to be blistering hot in front of the fire and the idea of climbing the stairs to bed held even more appeal than kissing John again.

Well, almost more appeal. John's response was gratifyingly pliant. His head dropped back and he let Rodney kiss everything he'd wanted to kiss for four, long weeks and occasionally (but only occasionally, because he wasn't _completely_ pathetic) for twenty years before that. Even John's stubbled cheeks felt good under Rodney's lips.

"Why did you-- how did you-- I thought you hated me," Rodney heard himself say against the soft skin below John's ear.

"What?" John pushed him away slightly and blinked up at him. 

"You never-- Oh, never mind. I don't care anymore." He leaned forward to kiss John's open mouth.

"Wait," John said, though it sounded more like, "Worgh." He kissed Rodney back, hard, then pulled back. "Why would I hate you?"

"You never came back. In Calgary. To the, um-- to see. Me. Can we--" 

"McKay, for god's sake, I yelled for you after the race and by the way, you never tried to get in touch with me either. Was your dialing finger broken?"

"You… yelled for me? What?"

John's face reddened, and it wasn't from the heat of the fire. He licked his lips. "Didn't you see me after the race? The footage was all over the damned place. I yelled, 'McKay, I did it,' and Jesus Rodney, you're supposed to be the genius, and you never noticed--"

"McKay? You said 'McKay, I did it?' Not 'Okay, I did it?'" Rodney gaped at him. "You got saddled with quite possibly the lamest nickname in all of sports because of me?"

John flopped back on the couch and let out a long-suffering sigh.

"Oh." Rodney stared at him for a moment, and then started to grin. "That's actually kind of-- agh!"

He stared up at John, who had tackled him backward into the sofa pillows. "I was twenty years old and I was an idiot, okay, McKay? And you never-- I never saw you around again after that, and I-- I wanted to, but they wouldn't leave me alone. They interviewed me so much I lost my voice, for fuck's sake--"

"I don't see why. All you ever said was, 'Yeah, it was great.' 'How did it go up there, Kid?' 'Yeah, it was great.' Would it have killed you to talk about how you analyzed the course so well? With my expert help, by the way-- ow!"

"Not the point, Rodney." John took a deep breath. "So yeah, I couldn't get away but you never tried to see me, either--"

"I had three races to prepare for! And I did try! But it was… well, I was, I don't know what I was, and you were all anybody talked about and I lost all three of those damned races, and I thought you probably wouldn't want to see me again, and-- oh my god, this is the stupidest conversation after sex I've ever had in my life."

John stared at him for a moment, then smiled slowly. "Ditto." He dropped his head onto Rodney's shoulder. 

"Anyway." Rodney absently rubbed his hand through John's hair. It was damp at the back of his neck. "That's the past and this, right now is-- um. Really--"

"Yeah. It was great."

Rodney pushed him onto the floor. Which annoyingly didn't have the desired effect of stopping John's evil snorts of laughter. 

"Okay." Rodney said. And sat up.

"Okay… what?" 

Rodney pulled up his sweats and lifted himself off the couch. "Okay, I've got to take some ibuprofen and go to bed, and you've got to--" He bit his lip.

"Go to bed with you?"

Rodney swallowed. "I've got to wake up in four hours and you must be exhausted--"

"Oh, I'll wake you up."

"You-- oh."

"Yeah, I think we should have sex in a bed," John mused. "Just to, you know, see if it works for us now."

"Well. That sounds like an excellent… plan. Congratulations, you _have_ learned how to think ahead."

John grinned and hauled himself up, then groaned. "Oh my god, remind me never to blow you while I'm on my knees. I'm going to need an hour in the whirlpool tomorrow."

"Says the man who still thinks nothing of throwing himself down a mountain like a twenty year-old."

"Says the man who threw himself out of a helicopter this morning."

"Yes, well, the only place I want to throw myself now is bed."

"You really are a genius, McKay."

John was leaning over the controls by the fireplace; long legs, wiry body, hair going in every direction and the thought that had been hovering just outside Rodney's consciousness hit full force. He dropped the blanket he'd been bundling up. "Oh my God."

"What?" John turned in alarm. "What, is your head--"

"No, I just realized you're really here. It took you twenty years, but you're actually _here_."

John bit his lip. "It's good right? I know it's kind of sudden, but I-- I just… saw your name in _Skiing_ one day and decided I had to give it a shot."

"Sudden? Sudden? Hello, twenty years! And you've been here almost a month. You could have said _something_ over the last couple weeks. It's not like I was going anywhere."

"Yeah well, I was kind of… working up to the explanation part of it. At least I got you out of that damned office."

"I thought I was going to have to convince _you_. I drew up a _plan_."

"What?"

"I had it all worked out. I-- oh." 

John was suddenly wrapped around him, arms tight, lips against his hair. "I like my way better," he whispered. "Take a leap over the edge. See what happens."

Rodney thought of his beautifully annotated plan, carefully folded and hidden away in his desk. John leaned in to kiss him and Rodney made a note to feed the plan into the shredder when he got to the office in the morning.

He closed his eyes. And leaped.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to haphazardmethod and cofax7 for beta. They both deserve a medal for making the characterizations here much better than they were originally. 
> 
> As my ski ~~bunny~~ , beta, I absolve cofax of all skiing/snowboarding errors. She did her best to keep me honest, but I still left in some bits I made up to serve the story.


End file.
